Take Care of You
by sonofatoasterwaffle
Summary: Sam's had a spectacularly terrible week, and Dean knowns just how to fix it. Sam/Dean. Shower sex. Fluffiness. You know you want it.


A/N: So, apparently, I've got a thing for Weecest. Sorry not sorry.

Warnings: Underage sex (Sam is 17. no penetration, just some frottage, a blow job, and a smidge of dirty talk), mentions of calculus that may be traumatizing for some readers.

* * *

And Dean can't help but stare while Sam does his homework, brow furrowed in concentration, calculus equations materializing on the white paper. The kid just looks so gorgeous, bangs falling into his eyes and legs splayed out over the kitchen chair. Dean thinks briefly about kneeling in between those long, perfect legs and making good use of his so-called 'pretty' mouth, but when he sees Sam shake his head in frustration and rub at his temples for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes, Dean changes his mind. He rises from his spot across the table to stand behind his brother and rub his shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." Sam sighs under Dean's hands, rolling his neck to release some of the pressure.

Sammy'd had a spectacularly terrible week. It wasn't bad enough that he'd gotten the holy hell beat out of him by an angry spirit, or that Dad had chewed him out for being "careless", or that he had to go to school with two broken ribs, a black eye, and lacerations everywhere. No, he'd also landed himself in detention for flooring two stupid teenage bastards who started a fight after Sam had caught the attention of one of their girlfriends.

Dean hums his disapproval- if it were up to him, he'd have already ripped those punks' lungs out-, bending down to kiss the back of his baby brother's neck. "What hurts?"

Sam's voice gets a little dreamier with each of Dean's movements. "Head, ribs, shoulders. My freakin' brain."

"C'mon, take a break, huh?" He coaxes, fingertips massaging Sammy's temples.

Sam leans his head back into Dean's stomach. "Wanna, but I have to finish this."

"Nah, I'll help you with it a little later, 'kay? Let's shower."

Sam lets himself be manhandled out of his chair and across their shoe box of an apartment. He's too tired to fight back. To tired to really want anything other than his big brother's warm hands all over Sam's body.

Dean kisses his forehead gently before turning on the shower. He strips them both efficiently and by the time Sam stops thinking about why he couldn't wrap his mind around that calculus problem, Dean is pulling him into the shower and kissing him soundly on the lips. Sam is suddenly so exhausted he feels like collapsing into Dean's arms and falling asleep, but then Dean is pushing Sam under the spray of warm water and lathering soap over his broken body. Miraculously, Sam's not tired anymore.

He leans his head back against Dean's shoulder and cranes his neck to kiss Dean's. His body is waking up, leaving the fog of math and detention and Dad and broken ribs behind until he just _feels_. Feels Dean's hands all over his body, feels himself being kissed everywhere. Feels himself taking a hold of Dean's hair as his brother drops to his knees. "Can I?" Dean asks, and Sam almost comes from the innocence in his brother's eyes.

_Can you give me a __blow job? _"Is the answer ever 'no'?"

Dean grins "Guess not." And then he's sucking on the tip, tongue swirling like Sam's a freaking lolly pop, and Sam doesn't think about anything anymore other than Dean's mouth.

He's much more gentle this time than he usually is, and if Sam were in any position to use his brain he would realize why. Dean always treats him like glass when he gets hurt. Never in any overt way- but it every small way. Including his care of Sam now. The kisses on the forehead, the quiet words, the way he was handling Sam like some precious, breakable thing.

"Dean... Jeez, feels so good."

Dean is running his hands down Sam's legs, back up to his ass and taking residence there, the feel of it making Dean moan in obvious pleasure. The vibration rockets up Sam's spine, and he's sure that if Dean wasn't holding him up he would fall. "So fuckin' _big__,_ baby boy." Dean backs off to teasingly mouth along Sammy's dick. "Can't even getcha all the way down."

A litany of smartass replies about Dean being Sam's bitch crosses his mind, but he thinks better of every one of them before he says them. In no way does he feel like jeopardizing the fact that his big brother is on his knees for Sam, sucking him like it's his purpose in life. Instead, he caresses the side of Dean's face. "Runs in the family, baby."

An uncharacteristic blush flashes on Dean's face as his blood red lips find their place sliding Sammy back in. This time, he means business, bobbing his head in time with the hand that's stroking what Dean can't swallow. His other hand is still firmly placed on Sam's ass, holding Sam steady to help keep him from thrusting down his brother's throat. He'd rather not explain another sudden case of 'strep' to his father.

It's building, everything's building. Dean's warm, wet mouth, his tongue working everywhere, the hot water at Sam's back. And it's just about to be too much- Sam's about to come in his brother's mouth when the jerk decides to just pull of, leaving Sam hot and hard. "Dean!" He whines, but Dean has none of it, standing on shaky legs.

He kisses Sam, long and deep, sliding both of their cocks in his loose fist. "Wanna feel you." He pants out. "Wanna come together."

And somehow this is a million times better. It doesn't even matter that Dean's kind of stepping on Sam's toes and they're both weak at the knees and wobbling a little. Nothing seems to matter except Dean's all flushed and pressed against Sam, their bodies joined from lips to knees, all that wet skin slipping deliciously. Both brothers moan in tandem. Sam's orgasm explodes first- and Dean's pretty proud of himself; that kid has superhuman stamina- lips latching onto Dean's neck and sucking the most amazing unintentional hickey into the skin. And it's that harsh nip that gets Dean crashing down, too, rutting helplessly against Sam. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, baby, oh Lord."

Then they're both coming down and kissing through it even though the water's pretty cold now and they're so spent it's hard to keep standing. Dean grins as he steps out of the shower and tugs Sam with him- unwilling to lose any more contact than absolutely necessary. "I was right, huh? This was way better than math."

Sam sighs. He'd forgotten about his homework. "Woulda already been done if it hadn't been for Josh and Morgan." He gripes, worrying even as Dean tosses Sam a towel and a pair of clean boxers.

"Screw them, Sammy. Screw the homework. We'll be leaving this crap town in a few days anyway." He ambles to the bedroom and flops down on the queen bed they're sharing this time.

"I can't, Dean. I don't wanna get detention again." Sam calls from the kitchen where he's grabbing the stupid, God-forsaken geometry problem set and a beer for Dean. He joins Dean in bed, placing a book on his brother's stomach to use as a table. "Those kids in there are annoying. The teacher's never even in there like he's supposed to be and I can't get a damn thing done in there."

Dean knows if Sam's cursing, it's pretty bad. He blows out a long breath and flips the second lamp on. No use in the kid losing that perfect eyesight of his. He can only imagine how much more crap Sam'd have to endure from those punks at school if he started wearing glasses.

If he wanted to fight, he'd ask why Sam won't just get his GED and be done with it already. They both know he could. But Dean already knows the answer to that, he knows what Sam's end game is, and, for right now, he'd rather just live in this happy, sated little heaven they've carved out for themselves.

Sam's pencil seems to be moving faster than before, and he doesn't look like he's going to explode with frustration anymore. Dean's fingers wind themselves into Sammy's wet hair, and he tries to stay awake, the beer forgotten on the bedside table. "Why don't you just teach those little bastards a lesson? Ya know, off school grounds?"

Sam doesn't even look up. "M'not a bully, Dean. I only swing when I have to."

The statement makes Dean proud. He must be doing something right, raising this kid. This man, obviously. He rubs his knuckles across Sam's head playfully. "Alright then, you upstanding young man, you. Then why don't you just get the kid's girlfriend to leave him for you?" his voice drops a little. "You know you could, if you wanted to."

As much as Dean wants to keep Sam to himself, he knows the truth. Their relationship isn't right. It isn't the 'normal' Sam wants. And even though it would kill him to give his baby up, Dean would do it in a heartbeat if he knew it was what Sammy wanted. _  
_

Calmly, Sam sets his books and pencil aside, moving up the bed and straddling Dean's hips. Dean looks up at him in surprise, letting Sam lean down and kiss him deep and slow and loving. "Listen to me, Dean. And don't write off what I'm about to say." He tilts Dean's face up with two fingers under his chin. "I love you, Dean. _You. _I don't want anyone else. I don't want a girl. I don't want a different guy. I want you." He leans down to press his lips to Dean's again, just gently, almost chastely, this time. "And as long as you want me, too, m'not going after anyone else. Ever. You got that?"

The seriousness in his baby brother's eyes burns down to Dean's very soul, and he knows Sam means every single word. "Yes, sir."

Flushing a little at Dean's words, Sam grins, slides off of Dean even as his brother protests with a whine. "Now are you gonna let me get my homework, done you jerk?"

A devilish smirk finds itself on Dean's face. "I dunno, Sammy, you might have another round in you after all."

"Tell you what," Sam propositions, unable to resist leaning back up to bite at Dean's lips. "Let me finish this and I'll fuck you hard enough to keep you feeling me for a week."

And, hey, Dean can't help it. He's kinda into bottoming for Sam. "Hurry."

Freakin' kid has got Dean wrapped around his finger. And Dean wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
